On Top of Spaghetti

I'm turning into a meatball.

And not a lean, lightly breaded baked kind, but the full fat juicy type, rolled with veal sauteed in hot olive oil, served with greasy sauce on top of gooey cheesy buttered roll.

This visual transformation is happening gradually like a slow home cooked meal simmering with a huge helping of burning love.

Now, eating three catered meals (secret ingredient, oil) a day, plus a myriad of snacks equaling enough food to make up the entire caloric count of two chubby kids is a ridiculous perk. One that saves me an obscene amount of money. Especially in a city where deviled eggs have become the next it food and run you a trendy $20 bill.

And there's more...

In addition to exercising that excessive perk of working 65 hour weeks and wolfing my rising body weight in food, I also took advantage of flexing the minor muscle tone I have left and visited our friendly on set casting office, introduced myself, explained my experienced reporter's bckground, and asked if I could play one on T.V.

I hope it pays in exponential dividends like my food consumption...

Sing, Sing, Sing, Sing-Along

Special Victims Unit

My latest face off with Eastern Medicine's version of stress management.

It won.

Life Cycles From A Cynic

"And I applied my heart to know wisdom and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also is but a striving after wind." Ecclesiastes 1:17

I know I've crossed over the line of youthful and accepting to old and intolerant when I am freshed dressed blown dry and head to the streets before sunrise and there are smatterings of obliterated bodies resembling zombies left over from Hallows Eve stinking of over imbibing and bummed cigarettes at my front door and I turn up my collar along with my pointed nose with disapproval.

I know I've down right had it when a bloody Tin Man approaches me on a dark corner and asks if I would join him for just one drink, while diving in front of me to grab a slice of cold crust at my feet.

But the defeating and evident truth that I've been beat is when I find myself on the Uptown 6 train heading to work at 5 AM surrounded by makeshift costumes warmed over and bloodshot eyes of laughing revelers that outnumber me fun to none.

And I bury my nose in the Post and let the tinge of homesickness wash over my oh so grown and responsible tired body.

Am I too young to say that youth is a disease from which we all recover? ~Dorothy Fulheim

Just A Nor'Easter

"While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease.” Genesis 8:22

Today.

Something happens more substantial than October rain.

Steam rushes off the white caps of the ever present Hudson as driving wet white snow, blankets the golden gingkos. The river resembles a smoldering nights fire and the down jackets pulled from storage 2 months early are greased with a glistening sheen. Coal covered slush whips from bald tires of hallowed eye cab drivers and welcomes in another day of work.

It's October.

I sit on Captain's leather couch and write this on my mini computer/phone that fits in the palm of my hand as we are, so they say "quiet on set".

The french director can't even make eye contact with those lesser and shudders with the notion for 2nd teamers to read the lines of less than profound formula writers.

I should talk....

I've worked nearly 70 hours at this junction of this sleeting Saturday so I'm more irritable than should be.

My excuse for me in New York has morphed into another space; as it has currently become the most fascinating character in this television show and a fine opponent in the mind game I play with myself. I like to call it important work.

I've fallen into a position of privy which allows me to pitch scripts and audition daily and I find myself to be so disillusioned with the lack of humanity and heart that the most meaningful moment for me is the fact I will be sharing beers with the camera crew tonight at wrap.

Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's because I miss my husband. Maybe it's because I stand at an Observation Window in a built, make believe set more then I stand at my own kitchen sink.

Could it just be time for Motherhood?

Peaceful Revolution?

“All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be competent, equipped for every good work.” 2 Timothy 3:16-17

Woke up with enough time to do nine push ups and a handful of jumping jacks to Michael Franti before catching the crosstown bus from hell to another simply marvelous joy filled 15 hour work day where I am (without sarcasm) content.

On this early morning commute a rather irate pregnant woman demanded to get on bus while the driver repeatedly closed the door on her and said there's no where to sit but his lap. She screamed and flailed her arms until the driver relented. Once she made her point and squeezed her non showing belly and grossly scowling forehead between the white line and four raised armpits, all of the passengers had turned against her.

But before the nonsense ensued, in my four minute attempt to work off the late night catering in the privacy of my quiet home, I honed in on Franti's lyrics...Oh My God.

And prayed for the peace that would come if we would all cry out to Him.

Oh my, oh my God
here mama they got us livin’ suicide singin’
Oh my, oh my God, oh my God

Listenin' to my stethoscope on a rope
internal lullabies, human cries
thumps and silence, the language of violence
algorithmic, cataclysmic, seismic, biorhythmic
you can make a life longer, but you can’t save it
you can make a clone and then you try to enslave it?
stealin’ DNA samples from the unborn
and then you comin’ after us
‘cause we sampled a James Brown horn?
scientists who’s God is progress
a four-headed sheep is their latest project
the CIA runin’ like they're Jones from Indiana
but they still won’t talk about that Jones in Guyana
this ain’t no cartoon, no one slips on bananas. Singing Oh my God. MF

Who can save us from ourselves?

Stand-In, Job Description: Stand In

Sit down...Why thanks, I'd love to.